


wretches and kings

by BabaTunji



Series: MCU Ficlets [10]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood as fertilizer, Cousin Incest, Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Soul Bond, This Is Not A Coercive Band-aid, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: The herb makes a bond between the two black panthers. T'Challa and Erik work it out following the events of the BP movie.





	wretches and kings

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a while back. Posting it for my birthday. As usual the plot outnumbers any decent porn. Enjoy!  
Title is from the Linkin park song by same name (no playlist, no beta, R.I.P)   
3/16/2020 now has podfic!

“Call them off.” N’Jadaka isn’t looking at him, but at the Dora Milaje flanking him. He had entered T’Challa’s office as he normally did these days, without permission. There were guards at the door with instructions to let no one through, but his cousin could be persuasive when he wished.

“What is going on?” T’Challa can guess but it’s been a long day and dealing with his cousin throwing a tantrum isn’t his idea of a fun time.

“Your director of defense is an idiot.” T’Challa doesn’t sigh, but he wants to. Ifeye was not an idiot just stubborn especially in the face of change, something which his cousin embodied.

“Speak with the general, have her sort it out.” T’Challa was not going to be mediating between two hot heads, better to let the general tie break whatever disagreement had both of them heated now.

“Already have, she agreed with me.” His cousin sounds positively gleeful. As he should, the general wanted him dead most days. Personally, T’Challa thought they were too alike, W’Kabi concurred.

“So why are you here?” If the general agreed, then the director had to follow N’Jadaka’s direction.

“I came here to gloat, also I heard about your earlier meeting, with the Jabari, think I can help.” He doubts the truth in that statement greatly. M’Baku and N’Jadaka couldn’t stand each other, and their interactions made the Jabari leader's jabs at Shuri look friendly. He dismisses the attending Milaje with a wave. He hasn’t taken a break since lunch. It was almost 6 in the evening.

N’Jadaka leans against the edge of his work desk. Looking quite hale for a man who had been on an extended hunger strike less than 4 months ago.

“Okay so, I was talking with some historians, for the herb project.” T’Challa nods, bidding the younger man to continue. Part of their new agreement had N’Jadaka rebuilding the herb garden he destroyed. Their own reserves made such rebuilding possible but what had ultimately saved the garden was the herb still running in his cousin's veins, his blood shed as living fertilizer.

“And they mentioned something about the Jabari wood. It acts similar to the herb. Anyway, I did some digging.” T’Challa raises an eyebrow. N’Jadaka amends, “Bribed Shuri to do some digging for me and apparently we stole something from them way back when or whatever.”

“What does that have to do with Lord M’Baku’s request now?” N’Jadaka shrugs then leans closer on the desk.

“We should return it, don’t you think?”

T’Challa makes the connection. “No, the herb belongs to the panther tribe.”

His cousin snorts in disgust. “It’s their wood that created the herb we have now. It wasn’t always like this. Whatever our great great great granpappy ingested is not what we have now. It’s mutated. We mutated it.”

“What do you mean?” T’Challa had assumed perhaps incorrectly that his cousin meant the herb itself, not whatever ingredients he had discovered. Presumably a form of Jabari wood.

“Give me some of your blood and I’ll show you.” N’Jadaka sounds serious. T’Challa shakes his head, no.

In the beginning after his cousin's defeat, they had tried all sorts of things to revive the herb garden. Including T’Challa’s own blood, it hadn’t worked. His cousin’s had, however the why was something that was only quietly debated, the technicalities of kingship and Bast’s blessing its own bloody waters.

“Show me later, what do you plan to do?” N’Jadaka takes one of the displays from his desk.

“The wood has strange properties when introduced with my blood. It’s not like the herb, but I think if we put it back where we stole it from it will help some of their current issues.” The display had been locked when his cousin came in but now it’s showing a diagram from the herb project.

T’Challa is mostly used to the oddities that follow his cousin now. The man was able to manipulate vibranium technology without kimoyo beads or proper accesses. Which had been terrifying at first. But which they had learnt had its limitations. Perhaps one of the reasons they hadn’t been able to remove the herb from his body.

“To whom have you spoken about this?” Shuri presumably.

“No one. Shuri helped me confirm some stuff but I don’t think anyone else has made the connections. Also, pretty sure the Jabari forgot about it.”

“So, this wood... you want to return it. With your blood.”

N’Jadaka nods, “Can’t hurt. What's happening to their sacred tree happened to the garden like 8 centuries ago. It's why we stole this wood to fix it.”

His cousin makes the solution look simple, which is funny considering how complicated everything has been since his arrival.

“Consulting with the Jabari’s own scholars first would be best.” T’Challa hopes his cousin isn’t right about this. There is a lot of history between the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda. Stealing sacred wood wouldn’t be the worse they’ve done over the centuries.

“Your problem not mine. Someone who’s not your sister needs to check this history.” N’Jadaka sets the display down and moves so he’s now leaning on T’Challa’s side of the desk. “I came here to gloat, congratulate me.”

T’Challa rolls his eyes and pushes up from his chair to stand. He’s been sitting for hours. His cousin doesn’t move away so when he stands they’re mere inches apart. Not unlike the first time they met in that throne room. But this time is different, so much is different now. 

“Okoye agreeing with you on anything is a truly rare event, you should savor it.” He congratulates N’Jadaka, mind on how he would approach this new diplomatic mind field the next time he saw M’Baku. Instead of leaving or even stepping away N’Jadaka’s pleased expression melts into something playful. It makes him look even younger.

He tells T’Challa, with no small relish: “I'm feeling a certain type of way."

T’Challa responds with a frown, eyes going from the door then back to his desk. This was a private part of their agreement, one he tried to indulge in less public places. “Later.”

N’Jadaka’s hand wraps around his arm. His gaze is still playful, his grip is not. Aided by the herb still running through his veins, he reiterates. “Now.”

T’Challa doesn’t respond with words but N’Jadaka must assume his consent because he releases T’Challa’s arm to weave around him before settling gracefully in T’Challa’s seat. 

There is a name for what they are, unused in recent centuries. Records on what happens when more than one person ingests the herb and is accepted by Bast, are scarce. It usually doesn’t last long, being the result of civil war or unrest.

T’Challa can’t kill N’Jadaka, not anymore. There had been a period, in the beginning after N’Jadaka ingested the herb, to break the bond that forms between Bast’ icons. But that time is past and what is left is an odd symbiosis. What they’ve found, through trial and error and heavily edited records is this: Their life force is bound together, as are some of their abilities. Unless they both take the special concoction to remove the herb, it can’t be removed. Which wouldn’t be a huge issue, if N’Jadaka hadn’t burnt the garden in its entirety as his first act as king.

Estimates on when a new garden would be fully grown vary from 3 to 12 years. Based on how hard the last few months have been for everyone, T’Challa isn’t holding his breath. So, they had to compromise, live with each other. Navigate the fallout of legality for what had occurred during N’Jadaka’s three-day reign and Wakanda’s unveiling.

Technically this little caveat is one of the easier things in his new life as king. It had been very difficult at first, of course, needing to be close to someone who would rather choke him to death (and fail due to their new state of being.)  
  
T'Challa is king of 5 tribes in name only—The Jabari and Border tribe seemed to be engaged in a competition to see who could flaunt his authority more—just everything upside down and the uncertainty of what came next. What was allowed, after so many rules and traditions were already broken or useless to really address the issues. 

Being close to each other is a requirement, extended periods away from each other is painful. Being at odds with each other, really, is painful. Working out what counted as ‘at odds’ is something they’re still figuring out. The need for sexual contact has no right to feel as natural as it does. Yet after everything that’s happened this last few months it’s not even the oddest thing about their relationship anymore. 

When T’Challa doesn’t make any move to be closer, N’Jadaka reaches lightning fast for his left arm. T’Challa sees it coming and pulls back, ignoring the dirty look it earns him. He reaches to his immediate right to open the top desk drawer. Pulls out a small slim container and sets it down on the desk. 

“You keep lube in your office?” N’Jadaka sounds surprised and a little pleased. 

He might be getting a little ahead of himself here but T’Challa recognizes the little gleam in N'Jadaka’s expression and presses any self-consciousness he might feel at being prepared for a moment like this, away.

N’Jadaka wanted this just as much as he did. “If you last long enough we might actually need it.” It’s an underhanded jab—they both didn’t last long when they waited this long to do it—but N'Jadaka had stolen his chair, he’s not feeling very nice. He isn’t childish enough to fight for it back, but he would be lying if he said it doesn’t appeal to him. 

N’Jadaka chuckles gamely, but doesn’t move, waiting for T’Challa to set the pace. T’Challa does so reluctantly, moving to straddle N’Jadaka’s lap. His cousin is wearing a v-neck top that dips low, and loose pants that need only be pulled away to—N’Jadaka leans up to kiss him. 

Like the reach for his arm he sees it coming, unlike before he doesn’t pull away. 

They kiss, his hands moving from his side to cradle N’Jadaka’s face. The kissing is new, and unnecessary for what they need to do. But it’s enjoyable and T’Challa is loathe to deny it when N’Jadaka is the one that initiates it. It’s unnecessary because their unfortunate bond encourages sexual arousal when in close proximity, no foreplay needed, especially if they take too long to get to it on their own volition. So the solution they both employ is to stay away from each other unless necesary… and have sex regularly when possible. They’re both adept at avoiding each other, less adept at the latter. At least not without prodding from the bond and steep discomfort on both sides.

T’Challa often feels like he’s taking advantage of N’Jadaka. He won’t take the concoction that strips the herb from him, won’t stop being the Black Panther, not while so much is in limbo and the herb garden is still in painfully cultivated gestation. So he submits to this strange bond and stranger urges. In return, N’Jadaka never fails to make his disdain known for what they are, particularly before, during and after the act. It kills his mood when he’s reminded for the umpteenth time how much N’Jadaka hates him, if N’Jadaka had a real choice there would be no compromise. It doesn’t explain the kissing, but then N’Jadaka is filled with contradictions. 

There’s a hand groping his ass and another working at the closure of his pants. Ah, the kisses were a distraction. Or maybe not… he lowers his hand to help undo them and N’Jadaka pushes his hand away, biting his bottom lip in retaliation. Beads of blood form where he’s bitten, N’Jadaka licks it away before T’Challa can. He watches the way N’Jadaka’s eyes close in momentary bliss. 

That was another quirk, the blood. It felt good when they drank each other’s blood, amplified their abilities as well. 

Then T’Challa’s pants are being shoved down, enough to let his erection free and they’re kissing again. Less languid now, with bloodlets being swapped as much as spit. N’Jadaka hisses something into his ear and T’Challa remembers the lube. Reaches back blindly to grab it with one hand and pulls the loose swath of cloth near N’Jadaka’s crotch area with the other. 

N’Jadaka is cut, unlike T’Challa. It had bothered him a lot the first few times they’d done this in earnest. There was no skin to grip when he jerked the man off, entire bundles of nerves missing with the skin circumcised. No pouch for precum to pool, it just trails down to make a mess. 

T’Challa drizzles lubricant on the head of N’Jadaka’s cock, massaging gently and ignoring the painful bites N’Jadaka presses into the flesh of his neck. Not strong enough to break skin, but no love bites either. 

N’Jadaka hasn’t touched T’Challa’s cock yet, seemingly content to grope and kiss. It sends a wave of goosebumps through him, their bond thrums underneath the unnatural lust. 

“You always keep me waiting.” N'Jadaka presses the words into his neck, the vibration reminds T’Challa of a cat purring. The discomfort from earlier, when N'Jadaka entered the room is gone now. But T’Challa knows it’s only momentary. The minute they seperated or soon after they were intimate the discomfort would return. A phantom itch, a reminder to seek out what he’s missing. 

An explanation is on the tip of his tongue, he was busy, they were both busy. Most days he couldn’t stand to be around his irritant piss of a cousin. There’s a list. All the reasons T’Challa would rather wait till it was unbearable before succumbing. Excuses for something that would only be solved with physical contact, an exchange of blood, sweat—semen. N'Jadaka groans underneath his touch and T’Challa feels lighter. This is what they both wanted, what they both missed. 

“Shut up.” Is what he says instead, his hand working a little faster over length of N’Jadaka’s cock. He wants to touch himself but he knows from experience there’s no point. Not when they went this long. T’Challa had to make N’Jadaka come and vice-versa, that was the only way to gain true reprieve, for however many hours, maybe a few days if they were lucky. 

N’Jadaka does not shut up.

“I’m the one that has to deal with your nympho ass when you wait too long. I’m on a stricter schedule than you are, it took us weeks to even get this far with—” T’Challa kisses him to shut him up. N’Jadaka bites the flesh and more blood, sluggish now—they’ve been going at this for awhile— wells up. 

T’Challa knows who pays more for it when they wait. But he’s testing something, needs to see just how dire, how much time he really has before the bond forces him to seek N’Jadaka out. He pulls away to breathe and N'Jadaka grips his throat, the other hand at T’Challa’s waist. He hasn’t touched T’Challa’s cock this whole time. T’Challa whines in confusion a tendril of fear creeping into his thoughts. It fades when N’Jadaka tightens the grip he has on T’Challa’s throat. N’Jadaka just wants him to listen, neither of them could kill the other, they’d both (at different times) tried. The bond hurt both of them. 

“We have viable seed embryos and a tight schedule to get them to germinate. If you dont want the last 2 months of work to end up in the trash, you’ll come to me instead of me having to fucking find you.” 

The seconds ticks by with N’Jadaka’s fingers on his windpipe, but T’Challa doesn’t struggle. His grip has gone loose around N’Jadaka’s cock, when it starts to creep past 60 seconds he fears he might actually pass out. He’s still very very hard, why wouldn’t N’Jadaka touch him? He was drawing this out. Then just as suddenly as his air had been cut off, he’s allowed to breath again. T’Challa moans with relief and tightens his grip accordingly. 

N’Jadaka curses and finally, finally, reaches for T’Challa’s erection. 

Neither of them last long after that and only routine mechanical memory saves him from wasting the act. He leans over sluggishly, his orgasm fast approaching for N’Jadaka’s collar bone. There’s a mark there from their first time. He licks the mark and bites down hard. 

They don’t really know why it works the way it does, why sometimes they can go for days without that phantom itch and sometimes it’s like they hadn’t done anything at all. Biting the mark, like making each other come, is something that increases the reprieve period. He presses down with his molar teeth, trying not to break the skin. Blood didn’t help here, just the bite itself. Besides, too much blood and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, the blood was like a stimulant for him, a depressant for N’Jadaka. 

N’Jadaka comes first, as usual. The semen soaks into T’Challa’s clothes, his skin. He strokes N’jadaka through it, lethargic from his own incoming orgasm. His cousin returns the favor and short minutes later he comes as well. He paints the space between them, thinks for the first time of his poor chair. Eugh. 

“Grab the cleaning wipes, they’re in the same drawer as the lubricant was.” T’Challa mumbles, luxuriating in his orgasm. 

Instead of dumping him to the floor and leaving, N’Jadaka listens, wheeling the chair with both of them in it closer to the desk so he could open the drawer. “You keep regular towels in here?” 

T’Challa shakes his head no. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, though there may be some in the supply closet? Honestly, this isn't the place for—N’Jadaka wipes his face with one of the cleaning wipes. T’Challa fights the urge to lick his lips after, grabs some cleaning wipes himself and gets to work. After they were less sticky they would need to discuss N’Jadaka’s findings on the Jabari wood in more depth, compare timing for when the bond urge started and when it stopped. T’Challa wouldn’t mind dinner somewhere in all that either. For now, he cleans himself haphazardly and enjoys the reprieve. 

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i could write like porn and only porn someday. maybe.  
im 23 years old now, its possible.  
T: https://twitter.com/makalapua24/status/1178513406917316608?s=20  
E: .........

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] wretches and kings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179165) by [AgentMal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/pseuds/AgentMal)


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